


Just Ten Years

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [94]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Derek Hale, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Returns, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Emotional Constipation, First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Ten years.Ten years was exactly how long Stiles had gone without thinking about Derek Hale. He’d like to say for the record that none of this was out of the blue. Sure, Stiles had long since gotten over leather jackets and overly-expressive eyebrows. Sure, he had a job and a life in Beacon Hills now, and he was doing completely fine on his own.Sure, things were perfect. Everything was perfect.And it had been ten years.Then Derek Hale walked right back into his life.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [94]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 35
Kudos: 387
Collections: Sterek Ship (haljoy26)





	Just Ten Years

Ten years.

Ten years was exactly how long Stiles had gone without thinking about Derek Hale. He’d like to say for the record that none of this was out of the blue. Sure, Stiles had long since gotten over leather jackets and overly-expressive eyebrows. Sure, he had a job and a life in Beacon Hills now, and he was doing completely fine on his own.

Sure, things were perfect. Everything was perfect.

And it had been ten years.

That’s how long it had been since Stiles was a stupid teenager daydreaming about blazing red eyes or startling blue ones. He was living his own life now. And he had completely moved on from everything that had been his life before he graduated; the supernatural, the pain, the death.

Of course, certain things still came around. But every time they were taken care of, Stiles tried to pretend like he’d moved on from all of that too.

It started with a high school reunion.

Stiles didn’t actually plan on going. Not at first, thank you very much. Because everyone he’d ever gotten close to from high school was either dead, supernatural, or both, and if that wasn’t a mood ruiner, then what was? 

No, Stiles had planned on holing himself in his apartment not ten miles from his dad’s house and then maybe dropping by later that night to make sure his dad hadn’t ordered in pizza when he’d through he was safe.

But then Derek Hale had walked right back into his life.

Rude, right?

Stiles had always thought coffee shops were a sacred place. He thought the only good thing about being an adult was no one could tell you how much caffeine you were allowed and because of that, coffee shops were sacred. They were safe.

Derek Hale totally invaded his coffee shop.

Okay, to be fair, Stiles didn’t think the man had done anything on purpose. But there was this place near the Sheriff’s station where Stiles always did coffee rounds for the other deputies and until a fateful Friday, it had always been his safe place. He was good friends with the waitresses and occasionally, he got a free muffin. It was as good a place as any to get late-night work done, especially when his dad had kicked him out of the station for not ‘sleeping enough’ or whatever.

So to say Stiles had never expected to see the leather-jacketed back in front of him was an understatement. And it took him far too long to recognize Derek Hale.

Derek turned around first.

Stiles was minding his own business, desperately trying to pretend like Lydia wasn’t blowing up his phone with death threats if he didn’t show up to the reunion. He wasn’t sure why _she_ was going to be honest, though he thought it might have to do with Jackson’s possible return. Or maybe she just wanted to flaunt her well-earned success; and he really couldn’t blame her. Some people would have things to flaunt.

Stiles was just terrified about who else might show up.

He hadn’t talked to Scott in years.

By the time Stiles had effectively dodged all her questions and realized the line wasn’t moving, he never expected to look up into grey-green eyes. And for a moment, Stiles honestly thought he was dreaming.

It wouldn’t be the first time Stiles thought he recognized an unfortunate green-eyed or leather-jacketed stranger on the street. It would be the first time he wasn’t wrong, though.

“D-Derek?”

The moment he said the name, Stiles clamped his mouth shut. Because no way. No way in hell this was Derek Hale standing in front of him. Stiles was struck by painfully familiar memories of a man’s sad smile and small wave, and then he was stumbling back, turning toward the coffee shop door and making a beeline for it as fast as he could.

He made it to the sidewalk, but not beyond that.

The moment a hand caught his shoulder, Stiles swung right back around and shoved Derek away. He thought that as unfair, maybe. The flash of hurt across Derek’s face definitely was. But then it was gone as fast as it had been there and all Stiles could do was stare.

Derek looked… different.

His stubble was more of a beard, Stiles thought. The leather jacket was still the same, but Stiles didn’t know if it was possible for the man to ever get rid of it. Derek’s hands were shoved into his pockets and he was looking at Stiles like he’d seen a ghost, which was also totally unfair.

For a moment, all Stiles could do was stare. Then he clenched his jaw and turned away again.

In ten years, Stiles would like to say he’d never thought about Derek Hale. He’d gotten over leather jackets and overly-expressive eyebrows. He’d like to say all of that.

But dammit, it was such a lie.

“Stiles? Stiles, wait!”

There was a hand on his shoulder again and Stiles cursed. Yanking away, he turned down the nearest alley and the second Derek followed, he had the man slammed against the wall, something that sent him back so many years, Stiles nearly yanked right back away again.

Derek’s eyes flashed blue, but the man just stared. Stiles would like to say he’d grown into himself more over the past few years. They were the same height now and Stiles didn’t feel like that scrawny buzz-cut teenager that had been in a reversed position so many years ago.

No, this was different. And this time, Stiles was the pissed off one.

“What,” he said, glaring. “The hell are you doing here?”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles really hated how the man had deemed them a point of conversation at some point in their past. Even if Stiles had never really forgotten what each stupid eyebrow angle meant.

“Goddammit, Derek,” Stiles said, loosening his grip a little. “What the hell are you doing back in Beacon Hills?”

“Scott called me.”

That was a bit like a punch to the gut. Stiles let go of Derek’s jacket completely and stepped back, breath catching in his throat. But when the man started to move forward, Stiles tensed again, and Derek quickly paused too.

“He said some of the old pack would be in town. For your reunion.”

 _Dammit._ “Oh.” _Of course, he did._

Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott in a long time. Not after the True Alpha had finished up college in Beacon Hills and taken his pack to New York. Deaton had gone first and Scott had all but followed. For all Stiles knew they were holed up somewhere. Maybe facing fewer threats than they had in Beacon Hills, maybe facing more.

He didn’t really care, Stiles often told himself. He’d his best to distance himself from the supernatural long ago, even if it still sometimes reared its ugly head back in town.

Dammit, why couldn’t Derek’s head be ugly too?

“So this is what,” Stiles said, eyeing the man carefully. “A high school reunion? A pack one? Those left, at least. I can’t believe this is the one thing to bring you back in ten years.”

Derek flinched at that. Stiles hated the flicker of guilt he felt, snuffing it out.

It wasn’t like he’d tried to contact the man after he’d left, except he totally had. But either Derek had changed his number or abandoned his phone altogether because Stiles never got an answer. Or maybe—

“Stiles,” Derek said, breaking through his thoughts. The man looked concerned now. “Stiles, are you okay?”

Stiles didn’t realize he was breathing heavier until he came snapping back to reality. Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand over his face and hoped his panic wasn’t giving him away nearly as bad as he thought it was. “No, yeah, I’m fine. Uh, welcome back.”

He thought if he could turn away, get away, maybe he’d be able to break down without Derek seeing. But then there was that hand on his shoulder and Stiles froze.

“Derek—”

“Your scent is different.”

Slowly, Stiles turned back around. The man’s eyes searched his face, eyebrows knitted together. 

“It’s sharper. Less soft.” Derek’s gaze went down to his uniform and badge. “You’re a deputy now?”

Stiles didn’t answer, studying his face. It’d been dark the last time he’d seen the man. Derek had a bag slung over his shoulder and he had been looking at Stiles just like a few minutes ago. Like he was looking at a memory. A ghost.

The man had nodded and offered a small smile. Waved.

Some part of Stiles had known he wouldn’t be seeing Derek for a long time at that moment, if ever again.

“Stiles?”

“I’ve gotta go,” Stiles said, words shaking. Just a little, which he supposed was more than he could’ve hoped for. Derek’s expression still tightened. “Work.”

“You were going to get a coffee,” the man said, voice soft. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d almost think Derek’s tone was a little pleading. “Would your father mind if you went into work late?”

“Uh, yeah, he probably would,” Stiles said, and instantly hated himself. He knew his heart skipped a beat. He knew Derek heard it. He could read it on the man’s face.

Stiles still pulled away, turning around. And this time, Derek didn’t a move after him. The man didn’t even say a word.

Ten years and Stiles kind of thought he was an idiot in some ways. When it came to Derek, that is.

Still.

-

Stiles’s dad was a complete traitor.

Stiles managed to get through the whole day without blurting out Derek’s surprising arrival and avoiding conversation regarding the reunion that night. He had done well, dammit. And if Stiles wasn’t so mad at himself, he might’ve been a little proud.

Then Lydia Martin showed up on his doorstep. And Stiles had no doubts as to who had given her the address.

The dress slung over her arm was still in its plastic covering and she had a large enough bag in her other hand that Stiles was a little concerned about _what_ was in there. He didn’t even have the chance to get over his surprise or protest as the woman pushed into his apartment, right around him as Stiles stood there and gaped.

He was so tired of old faces showing up at random times. Derek Hale and Lydia Martin were too much for his brain to handle in the expanse of one day.

“Lyds, Lyds, Lydia, _wait,”_ Stiles said, closing the door and stumbling after her. Lydia had already lain out her dress on the sofa and Stiles knew he was doomed the moment she unzipped the other bag, pulling out a neatly folded bagged suit.

_Oh hell, no._

“Lydia, I already told you I’m not going,” Stiles said, to which the red-head fixed him with a look so severe that Stiles remembered why he’d known better than to argue with her in the past.

“You are going, Stiles,” Lydia said, unpacking the rest of her bag. “And you are not going to complain.”

Stiles frowned. “Is this really how you say hello after an entire year?”

Unlike nearly everyone else, Lydia Martin refused to sever all ties when she left Beacon Hills. She came back each year and if Stiles was honest, he thought that kept him sane sometimes. Because they’d faced the same things together and Stiles didn’t feel nearly as crazy when he got lost in old memories with her at his side.

Still, he would have rathered her visit been like usual this year.

“Hello, Stiles,” Lydia said, kissing him on the cheek. Stiles deflated a little at that.

“But I don’t want to go, Lyds,” he said, pretty sure he sounded as pitiful as he thought. “I mean, come on, do you really want to see everyone again?”

“Actually, I do.”

“Even the people who _weren’t_ werewolves or other supernatural things?”

She gave him a flat, ‘no more questions’ look, and Stiles sighed, sinking onto the arm of the couch.

“Derek’s in town too.”

Stiles kind of hated how good that felt to get off his shoulders. Except then Lydia gave him a sharp look, eyes bright with interest, and Stiles regretted everything. But it was too late as she moved closer, studying his face. And Stiles had always been a terrible liar when it came to Lydia Martin.

“He is?”

“For now, I think,” Stiles said, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “Scott invited him, I guess. I, uh, ran into him this morning?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes and Stiles felt his face grow hot. God, he hated everything sometimes. Mostly, he’s unableness to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is so a big deal, Stiles.”

“I really don’t want to go,” Stiles said quietly. “I haven’t talked to Scott since I came back to Beacon Hills and he left, and I’m pretty sure after this morning, Derek either hates me again or would just be better off without getting shoved into any more walls.”

“You did _what?”_

Stiles gave her a pleading look and the woman’s face softened a little. 

“I’m going to be by your side, Stiles,” she said, taking the folded suit and pushing it into his hands. “The entire night. For all people will know, I’m your smoking hot date and we’re both totally winning at life.”

“Hold up, if you’re the smoking hot one, what am I? The pity date?”

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and Lydia rolled her eyes, looking exasperated. “Never mind, oblivious hottie. Just shower, get dressed, and at least try to tame your hair. We only have four more hours.”

“Oh gee,” Stiles grumbled. “However will I be ready in time?”

The warning look Lydia gave him only seemed half threatening. He smirked and started toward the bathroom, bagged suit crinkling against his chest.

He should’ve skipped town the moment he heard about this reunion. 

-

The last time Stiles had shown up at Beacon Hills High in a suit, Lydia Martin at his side in a dress, stepping out of his jeep and eyeing the brightly lit school in the darkness, things hadn’t ended well. Stiles hated himself a little for those memories coming back before anything else but he couldn’t help it as images of red eyes and sharp fangs crashed over him, making him stumble for a moment as his fight or flight instincts kicked in.

In a moment, careful fingers were threading through his own. Stiles glanced sideways to see Lydia’s gentle, but determined expression and realized it couldn’t be much easier for her.

But she was here, she was going to do this. So he could too.

Right?

Stiles couldn’t help how his mind drifted as they moved into the school and toward the check-in table. Some part of him still couldn’t believe Derek had taken Scott’s invitation and come back. Because there was no way this could be anything other than painful for him too, right?

He tried to banish that thought. It wasn’t as easy as he might have liked.

Stiles expected the small talk, the speeches, and planned to at least get in a few drinks before he ran into anyone he knew. But then Lydia’s grip tightened and Stiles followed her gaze to see Jackson across the room, glass in hand as he stood in the corner more than the main room. It was a little strange to see, from the old Jackson that Stiles remembered. The one who had loved the spotlight.

Lydia slipped her hand away. “Okay, so, I know I said I wouldn’t be going anywhere—”

“Oh my god, go talk to the ex-lizard,” Stiles said, snorting as he scanned the room. “I’ll be fine. I need a drink anyway.”

The red-head rolled her eyes but started away. And Stiles made a beeline for the line of tables and drinks the moment he saw them.

He didn’t make it.

“Stiles!”

Stiles stopped with a wince, closing his eyes for a long moment before turning around. He always thought he’d run into Scott a different way. Maybe they’d finally meet up again after so many years had passed. What did healthy adults do at his age? Get dinner or something. Talk about work. Nothing involving their teenage years of running for their lives from countless threats.

God, Stiles sometimes forgot he was an adult.

“Scotty.”

The True Alpha looked startlingly similar to the eighteen-year-old at graduation. His hair was floppier again and his puppy eyes were just the same. Stiles kind of wished Lydia had still been beside him. Maybe he could—

“How are you?”

He’d expected the small talk, Stiles told himself. It didn’t make anything less awkward.

In a way, Stiles thought it was kind of funny. He’d always heard that childhood relationships didn’t often make it, but would things have been different if the werewolf stuff had never happened? Ten years and here he was, in a rented suit, being the best adult he could be.

He wasn’t great at it. Stiles managed to last five minutes before Malia was brought up and then small talk became awkward silence. Stiles thought Lydia owed him a million times over for ever making him leave his house. 

The pit grew in Stiles’s stomach as he managed to get away. There were lights, drinks, music. Had the bleachers been pulled out and Finstock been seen wandering around yelling at random kids, Stiles could’ve been in high school again. Back in high school again.

With the red eyes, sharp fangs, the first time everything had gone sour.

The pit turned to a sickness.

Stiles didn’t really think when he shoved out the nearest door, back into the fresh air. He didn’t really notice anything until there was a hand on his shoulder, Stiles realized he was on his knees, and he was shivering like it was much colder than a California late spring night.

“Hey, Stiles, hey. Breathe for me, okay?”

Stiles turned into the warmth of the man beside him without thinking. Some part of him would recognize Derek’s voice anywhere. Some part of him was still lost inside his spinning mind and the memories that were on replay over and over again.

“Hey, Stiles. Do you need me to call someone? Your father?”

“Oh god, no,” Stiles said, attempting to laugh. It came out in more of a wheeze. “No, let my dad eat pizza in peace.”

“... Lydia?”

Stiles actually did manage a laugh this time. “No, dude, she’s catching up with the lizard.”

“Jackson.” 

There was a definite tone of amusement in Derek’s voice and Stiles glanced up, a little surprised. He could have melted at the small smile tugging at Derek’s lips. Because when was the last time he’d seen something like that? Not that sad smile Derek had the night he left. Not that.

Never that.

“Why did you come back, Derek?” Stiles said shakily. Derek’s smile ebbed away.

“Is it that bad?”

“W-what?”

“That I came back?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pulling away a little. And Derek let him. “Oh my god, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’d never mean it like that. I just— it’s been ten years, Derek. You haven’t been back for ten years. Not since the last fight, not since that _night—”_

“Hey,” Derek said, and Stiles realized he was breathing heavily again. _Dammit._

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said quietly. “It’s not bad. It could never be bad. I’m just surprised.”

“Just surprised?”

“Shut up, Sourwolf. I didn’t miss you or anything.”

Derek’s expression did something soft again. The man stood and offered out a hand, which Stiles gazed at for a moment before taking. He glanced toward the cracked door, the sound of music faint in the air, and then slipped out his phone, typing a quick message to Lydia. To Derek’s quizzical look, Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head.

“I can’t go back in there.”

“Okay.”

“I shouldn’t have come,” Stiles said, laughing weakly. “You know?”

Then there it was; that hand on his shoulder. That hand on his shoulder and Derek’s raised eyebrow. “Let me drive you home.”

“Dude, I drove here—”

“Then we’ll leave my car. Let me drive you home, Stiles.”

Stiles still paused. But a quick text from Lydia was a _‘get out of here, Stilinski’_ and Stiles wasn’t sure if it was Lydia or Jackson who had sent that. He slipped it back into his pocket, shaking his head.

“Alright, Sourwolf. Let’s go home.”

He could’ve sworn the man’s eyes sparked a little blue but in the dim light, Stiles couldn’t be sure. Instead, he just leaned into the man’s arm around his shoulder, letting out a long breath. And he didn’t look back once at the high school, the music, the lights.

There was a Camaro parked next to his jeep. Stiles gave Derek a small look and quietly wondered when he’d shown up and how he’d know when to come. When Stiles needed someone.

Someone.. him. _Ten years._

Derek gave him a small look back and the ride back to Stiles’s apartment was quiet other than the directions he gave the man.

-

Stiles thought it was funny how quickly some things changed. 

He’d woken up in the morning determined to avoid any part of his past for good. But then things went wrong from his coffee shop safe haven and continued to go downhill from there. Except now, suddenly, it was steady again. Things were steady again. Stiles paused on his doorstep, Derek at his side, and thought it was funny how quickly some things changed.

“Will you leave again?” he asked, risking a small glance sideways. Derek’s face was unreadable. “After tonight?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Where have you been? All this time?”

The man just shrugged. “A bit of everywhere.”

“Oh wow,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “That’s real explanatory, Sourwolf.”

Derek’s unreadable look turned into the smallest of smirks. Stiles hated the way his stomach flipped at that and he glanced down at his hands, pretty sure that if he’d just gotten one or two drinks in him tonight, that’s what he could blame it on. He could blame it on the alcohol, the nerves.

But maybe he didn’t want to. “I might’ve missed you, Derek. A little.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles focused even harder on his hands. “I mean, it’s totally fine if you didn’t think about this token human a moment longer after you left, but I just wanted to say, if you do leave again—”

“Stiles.”

There were fingers tipping underneath his chin. Stiles glanced up into Derek’s soft expression of a raised eyebrow and faintly blue-tinted eyes. And he thought it was funny how fast some things changed. He could get lost in that look. Those eyes. A million words burned on his tongue, but Stiles was pretty sure it’d be best to just swallow them. It’d be best for when Derek was gone again.

Derek’s eyes sparked again. His thumb brushed over Stiles’s cheek.

“What if I don’t go anywhere?.”

It only took ten years. 

Ten years before Derek Hale stayed. Before the man kissed him.

And that was exactly how long Stiles had gone without thinking about the man. That’s what he’d like to say, at least. But none of this was out of the blue. He wasn’t over stupid leather jackets and unfairly expressive eyebrows. God, he totally never thought about Derek Hale. Not when he drove by the loft, not when he looked at that whiteboard he’d long since tried to forget about.

Because it had been ten years.

But then again, Stiles supposed, certain things always came around. Things Stiles would take care of, things he’d move on from. Things he’d try to forget. 

Though he didn’t want to forget this. Not ever. It took ten years for Stiles to finally realize that.

It took him ten years to realize that ten years might have been just enough.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Oh geez, how long has it been? A month? More? I've been in some kind of headspace and couldn't find the motivation to write, but it finally hit again and here we are! I apologize if this is a bit rough around the edges, I forgot what words were for a second there.
> 
> Of course, I adore you all and your amazing support! And I hope you're all having an amazing spooky season so far. Stay safe <3


End file.
